The Persians.
253
These chiefs on tented cars no more to see
Thy royal pomp behind.
Xerxes. Strophe IV.
For lost are they our host who led.
Chorus.
Lost amid the nameless dead.
Xerxes.
Woe! Woe! Alas! Woe! Woe!
Chorus.
Woe! Woe! in sooth, for lo!
Ill so unlooked for and pre-eminent
As Atè ne'er beheld, the gods have sent.
Xerxes. Antistrophe IV.
Stricken are we by heaven-sent blow. 990
Chorus.
Stricken, in sooth, too plain our woe.
Xerxes.
Fresh griefs, fresh griefs, ah me!
Chorus.
Meeting Ionian seamen, we
Have now, alas, encountered dire disgrace;
Unfortunate in war is Persia's race.
Xerxes. Strophe V.
Stricken, too true, with host so great.
